I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them.

How pathetic it is to describe these things which can't truly be described.

Go where the pain is, go where the pleasure is.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

Do devils love each other? Do they walk arm in arm in hell saying, “Ah, you are my friend, how I love you,” things like that to each other?...it was a matter of a concept of evil, wasn't it? All creatures in hell are supposed to hate one another, as all the saved hate the damned, without reservation.

It was as if when I looked into his eyes I was standing alone on the edge of the world...on a windswept ocean beach. There was nothing but the soft roar of the waves.